


gender? isn't that a spice?

by fuckeliasbouchard



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Nonbinary Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Martin Blackwood, no beta we die like jurgen leitner, set in the middle of season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:07:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29678181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckeliasbouchard/pseuds/fuckeliasbouchard
Summary: fun gender crisis times :)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 99





	gender? isn't that a spice?

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this and used up all my creative-ness just before my english creative writing assessment. help B)
> 
> content warnings  
> \- brief transphobia mention  
> \- brief homophobia mention  
> \- brief spider horror mention

Jon was working late in the archives again. He had needed to do some extra work regarding a statement about a space station, but his time-blindness combined with his inability to leave work incomplete meant that by the time he looked up at the clock on the wall, it was drawing near to 10pm. In all honesty, there was another reason why he had been working past closing hours: research for statements was a distraction for thoughts that Jon did not want to deal with at that moment.

  


Earlier that week, Martin had assembled the archival staff in the break room and come out to them as trans. Everyone had taken it fairly well: Tim had patted him on the back hard, Sasha just smiled. Jon had tried not to make things awkward, but failed, muttering something about being brave and thanking him. After the talk, Jon realised he didn’t know much about what being trans was like, so in the fashion of a true Archivist, he decided to do some research into it. Most of the articles he read and youtube videos he watched explained it clearly enough, but Jon was left with a feeling of frustration afterwards, rather than satisfaction. It felt like there was a small hole in his mind, and someone had gone in and defined it, which made it grow and grow until the hole was huge and gaping. The rest of the week, Jon’s thoughts were occupied by that one black hole, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape from it.

  


“Knock knock,” came a soft voice from behind the closed door. Jon flinched at those two words and an image of two huge spider legs opening the door came into his mind. He cleared his throat and tried to stop imagining. “Who’s there?” he asked, attempting to adopt a relaxed tone.

  


The person who opened the door was Martin, rucksack on back, half-yawning. “S’only me.”

  


“Why are  _ you _ here?” Jon’s tone was not exactly accusatory, but neither was it inviting Martin to dinner.

  


“I could literally ask the same for you.” Martin frowned and crossed his arms.

  


“I stayed late because I was finishing some work on that space station statement, Daedalus I think? I guess I must have lost track of time.”

  


“Right. Well, I also needed to work a bit more, cause Tim asked me to research into more of Carter Chilcott’s family history, but also I noticed that you hadn’t left your office since 5.”

  


“You were waiting for me?”

  


“I don’t know, I guess?” Martin looked slightly flustered and started to fiddle with his jumper sleeve. “I know that you don’t like to leave things unfinished, but I’m - I’m worried about you, because I know that you’ve been staying late a lot recently, and it was okay when I was living in the archives cause you were doing it to keep me company, or at least I think you were, but I’m not living here anymore, Jon, so you don’t have that many excuses to be working this late. So, um, yeah, I was waiting for you. I knew you would keep going through the night probably if I didn’t interrupt.”

  


Jon sighed. “I guess you’re probably right. Er, thank you? I think?”

  


“It seems kind of weird, but I sometimes miss living here.”

  


“Really?” Jon’s tone was slightly incredulous; he had stayed overnight many times and it hadn’t been the greatest of experiences.

  


“Yeah, it just always felt safe here. I don’t know why.” Martin glanced at the clock. “Um, well I’d better be going, and you should as well.” He began to head out the door when he heard Jon say his name. He turned round.

  


“Martin, I, er, wanted to ask you a question.” Jon had taken out his tangle and had started to fiddle with it a bit too hard.

  


“Fire away?”

  


“How did you know you were trans?”

  


Martin laughed weakly at this. “Jesus, Jon, that’s a pretty big question.” 

  


“Sorry.”

  


“No, don’t be, it’s just … what do you want to hear from me?”

  


“... I don’t know what you mean.”

  


“Well, you didn’t ask out of nowhere. Why did you ask me that question, Jon?”

  


“Would you believe me if I said I was curious?”

  


“No, not really. Can we move this conversation to somewhere with comfier chairs?”

  


“Okay.” They moved to the break room and sat down on the worn sofa. Martin took a deep breath and started talking.

  


“I know that I’ve always been trans, but it took me some time to figure it out. As a kid, I was sort of fine with everyone referring to me as a girl? I’m not sure, but I don’t think there were any problems. I just knew that I was different to the other girls around me. Whenever the class was split up into boys and girls, I always managed to join the boys’ side because I “thought they were cooler”.” Martin put heavy air quotes around that and smiled. “Now I know it was probably repressed feelings of actually wanting to  _ be  _ a boy, rather than wanting to be like them.

  


“I grew up in a Catholic, tory-dominated town so I had no idea what the word transgender meant, but that was only cause no one had explained it to me. But I knew that I hated having long hair, and wanted to cut it short. I tried to convince my mum that it was because maintaining it would be less of an effort, but she told me that she didn’t want other people thinking I was a lesbian. 

  


“So yeah, I didn’t really understand these weird feelings until I finally moved out to London. I cut my hair, and honestly, it felt great. Because I’m bi, most of my friends at that point were queer as well, and some of them talked to me about being trans, and everything just… seemed to click. I finally understood what those weird feelings meant. 

  


"Look. I guess I knew I was trans because things felt wrong. Like, really wrong. But once I was given the options, I knew I could fix them, sort of? That probably doesn’t make sense, but it’s how I can describe it. Even though I wasn’t exactly processing the feelings before, they still existed and I still knew that it felt wrong to be called a girl or a woman.”

  


Martin looked over at Jon, who was jiggling his leg furiously and trying to look away.

  


“Did, um, did that answer your question?” he asked, slightly more gentle than usual. Jon turned to him, and Martin could see there were tears welling up in his eyes. “Oh shit. Come over here,” he said and pulled Jon in for a hug.

  


“I’m sorry, this is very unprofessional,” Jon mumbled into Martin’s shoulder.

  


“You don’t have anything to apologise for.”

  


“I know, but… this isn’t exactly what you planned to do on a Monday night, is it?”

  


“Not really, no.” Martin began to laugh, and broke away from the hug, but still kept close. “So, you think you’re trans then?”

  


Jon sighed. “I  _ think _ ? I know that it doesn’t feel right being called a man or a woman.”

  


“So, like nonbinary then?”

  


“Yes, exactly.” Jon smiled at that. “But I’m still not too sure about a lot of things.”

  


“You sound pretty sure about it though.”

  


“Yes but it does seem too coincidental that these… feelings have started to emerge  _ just _ after you talked about it, I mean, I could be faking it to make me feel better about something else?”

  


Martin rolled his eyes. “Jon, did you listen to  _ any _ of the life story I told you? And we’ve talked about this skeptic act thing, you especially can’t do it for your own gender, for god’s sake.”

  


“I guess.” Jon was trying very hard not to laugh.

  


“Have you thought about pronouns that you’d be comfortable using?”

  


“Oh… not really. I mean, I’m comfortable with he/him, but sometimes it feels like something’s missing.”

  


“Okay, so… if I was, I don’t know, introducing you at a party or something -”

  


“Is that realistic?” Jon remarked.

  


“No, but _if_ I was introducing you, and I said something like, ‘This is Jon and they are the best archivist in London’ -”

  


“Now, that is untrue.”

  


“What do you want me to say? ‘They’re the most sleep-deprived person I’ve met?’”

  


“That’s much more accurate.”

  


“It shouldn’t be. ...Did you like the pronouns?”

  


“Oh, right.” Jon thought about this for a bit, running their hands through their hair. “Yes, I think? It sounded... right for me.”

  


Martin looked at his watch. “Well, pleasure to be of service, er, contact me when you have another gender crisis, I guess?”

  


“Thank you, Martin.” Jon reached over and gave Martin a hug.

  


“Oh - oh, this is nice,” he stammered as he hugged them back.

  


“I genuinely don’t know where I’d be without you.”

  


“Um, eaten by worms I think?”

  


“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

  


* * *

  


The next morning, Martin found a green post-it note on his desk. In spidery handwriting, there was a message that read “ _ I did a bit more research last night and I think they/he pronouns suit me most. Sleep is for the weak” _ . He smiled, folded the note in half and put it in his pocket.


End file.
